I do not like getting older.
Sometimes I like to have a good scratch behind my ears, and normally this involves using my hind legs. Recently I have discovered that I'm not so good at balancing myself anymore, and sometimes I fall over when I try to have a good scratch.
Softie noticed my feeble scratching attempts--followed by tipping over, and came to my rescue. She came over and gave me a really good scratching behind the ears, using her fingerclaws. They aren't nearly as nice and sharp as mine, but they got the job done and I was ever so grateful. After she finished I jumped up into her lap and purred very loudly to let her know I was pleased with her attempts.
Nice, sharp claws are another bother for me as I age.
The other day, the British One was sitting in a chair in the office, pecking furiously at the keyboard and staring intently at the glowing box. Sometimes I like to nap in this chair, because it is leather and retains a lot of warmth. Try as I might, I could not persuade the British One to budge. I noticed, however, that there was a new chair in the office. It is one of the many things that came to live with us when the boxes arrived last week. I decided to check it out for napability, but when I tried to jump onto it my claws got stuck in the strange fabric.
I tried to tug my claws out, but the harder I tugged the more my weak hind legs slipped out from under me. To add insult to injury, I also discovered that this new chair has wheels, and in the process of my struggle I managed to pull the chair all the way across the room and next to the British One, who had stopped pecking furiously at the keyboard and turned his attention to staring at me!
I do not like to embarrass myself, so I simply pretended that my intent all along was to move the chair across the room. He helped remove my claws from the evil fabric chair and helped me up onto it, but by then I had decided that I hated the chair and didn't want any more to do with it. I jumped down, stalked off to the bedroom and curled up on the duvet.
A few minutes later I overheard the British One on the phone to Softie, chuckling about my mishap. How rude!
I got him back a bit later by having a nice poo on the seagrass rug.